


A Spider Bite

by Surrealx3



Series: Johnlock AUs [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A messy mix between British and American, Alternate Universe - Fusion, But they are in New York, Cause Spiderman, Experiment gone wrong, Fluffy, Isolated Sherlock, Light-hearted John, M/M, Spiderlock, Unilock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-13
Updated: 2016-01-17
Packaged: 2018-04-09 02:50:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4330995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Surrealx3/pseuds/Surrealx3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John knew that going to Baskerville University would be a challenge. He was so far from home with no friends or family to support him, then he was assigned to room with this Sherlock Holmes, the most eccentric man he had ever met. Then a spider bite just had to complicate everything.</p><p>-----------<br/>The Spiderman AU that I just had to do</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Impressions

**Author's Note:**

> Idea and image for this story comes from:
> 
>   
>  <http://nastjastark.tumblr.com/post/107463291915/spidermanau-sherlock-ruffling-his-hair-as-he>  
> 

"Here's your dorm room," Mike Stamford, the dorm manager, handed John his key, "Your roommate is out right now so just relax and savour your time before he comes."

John watched him curiously as he left. Savour his time? Was that a joke? He shook his head and unlocked the door. Thankfully, he sent his bags ahead of him so they should already be in his side of the room.

Wherever that was.

The entire room was a mess of test tubes and papers. Books were scattered across the floor and, John gasped, a skull sat casually on top of one of the desks. John stepped over a bowl full of who-knows-what into the room and stared with wide-eyed horror. The only place that was remotely sanitary was his bed. Hesitantly, he made his way over to it and sat down, already exhausted by the mess. No one could survive in this room.

John jumped when the door burst open. A taller, copper boy strolled in with practiced precision, curls bouncing on top of his head. He barely stopped to glance at John before opening the mini-fridge and taking a test tube. While he examined it, he said offhandedly, "John Watson, my new roommate, a suburban boy who plays rugby, dull. Your father died recently, my condolences, and your mother has taken to drinking to cope. Typical, really. You'd think they'd give me an interesting roommate for once."

"W-what?" John sputtered, "How did you know that?"

Sherlock hummed under his breath and turned the test tube at an angle, observing the speed in which it moved. "Simple deductions. It's all rather obvious."

"It's not obvious to me," John argued.

"Nothing ever is," Sherlock sighed, "The mental capacity of the average person is severely lacking."

John watched him curiously, "Well maybe you can explain it to me."

Sherlock visibly paused, "Why?"

"Why not?" John replied, "Everything you said was spot on. I want to know how you did it."

He lowered the tube and regarded John with icy gray eyes, "Sherlock."

John blinked at him, "Hmm?"

Sherlock held out a wiry hand, "Sherlock Holmes."

"Oh, right," John babbled as he shook his hand, "John Watson, but you already know that. You seem to know a lot, how did you? Know, I mean."

"Deductions," Sherlock said dismissively, "You may have noticed that the room isn't exactly organized and judging from your well-groomed appearance, that will be a problem for you. Do what you want, just don't bother with fridge just yet. I have an appointment to keep so good day, John."

"Yes, good," John watched helplessly as Sherlock strode out of the room, "day." He stood for a dazed moment before it struck him how stupid he sounded. "Good day? Who says good day?" He complained to the skull, "It sounds posh when he says it but I sound like a complete idiot. This roommate thing is going to be a pain."

After he finished self-loathing, and probably Sherlock-loathing as well, John got to work on making the room a bit more livable. Everything unidentifiable was trashed and any papers were placed neatly on Sherlock’s desk unless they were crumpled and ripped like a lot of them were. An hour later, he was returning from throwing two huge garbage bags in the garbage disposal. The second he caught sight of his bed, he collapsed and passed out.

John didn't know what had woken him. It may have been the intense silence that was haunting his dreams. His eyes fluttered open, landing on the figure sitting across the tiny room. The boy was staring at him but was seeing nothing. "Sherlock?" He murmured sleepily.

He suppressed a gasp as Sherlock's dead eyes suddenly snapped to life. His sharp gaze landed on John. "It's only eleven. Go back to sleep, John."

"But," John's eyelids were heavy. His own body was urging him to obey. "Why..." The question fell off as his eyes fell shut.

"I'll answer your questions tomorrow," the baritone swept the tension from his body, "For now, sleep."

John knew he was fighting a losing battle. His last words before he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep was, "It was nice meeting you, Sherlock."

The words made Sherlock's heart pause mid-beat. He honestly doubted that meeting him was in any way 'nice' but his roommate had sounded completely sincere. He glared at the darkness but he had to admit, "It was nice to meet you too, John."

 


	2. Just Smile a Bit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John wants to see Sherlock smile.

When John woke up next, it was to the ringing of his phone. He jerked awake and scrambled to answer it.

“Hello,” he answered, almost panting from his scramble.

When he didn’t hear anything, he looked at his screen and stared in shock. An alarm had been set, the reminder read: **Your first class starts at 8:30 –SH**

It was already eight o’clock so he had barely enough time to wonder how SH got into his locked phone.

John booked it to class, skidding around idling college students. He couldn’t even express how much he regretted coming a day before his classes started. He barreled into his lecture room and plopped down in the nearest seat, heaving.

“Excuse me, dear,” John jumped and straightened. The professor, Mrs. Hudson, stared at him with concern. “Are you alright? Let me guess, just moved in last night?”

John nodded, trying to calm his galloping heart.

“Alright, I’ll let it go this time but do try to be on time the next, alright dear?” Mrs. Hudson graced him with a motherly smile.

“Yes ma’am,” he smiled back gratefully.

“And what would your name be dear?”

“John Watson, ma’am.”

“Well, John, welcome to Baskerville University.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” he sat back, relief overtaking him.

Mrs. Hudson went ahead and passed out the syllabus for her biology class. Her pleasant twinkling voice held John’s fond attention. He already knew he was going to love this woman. The hour passed quickly and John found himself wondering around campus for fun with his free hour.

He was mostly ignored on the campus save a few curious glances. He stopped at a café for a cup of tea before wandering off to the more deserted side of campus. The campus dropped off into the Baskerville woods, an ominous place with hordes of myths surrounding it. He didn’t past the first line of trees but looked in from the outside. While it was certainly creepy, the silence was almost calming. Then a figured came into sight. John almost dropped his cup from fright at the sight of the silhouette. It creeped closer, moving silently past bushes and trees like its feet wasn’t touching his ground. John didn’t realize he was holding his breath until Sherlock emerged.

“Jesus, Sherlock,” John clutched his galloping heart, “Give someone a heart attack, why don’t you? I was halfway to pissing myself, you know.”

Sherlock merely rolled his eyes, “Please, John, you’re overreacting.”

“I am not,” John said, offended, “I thought for a moment that some of those horror stories were true. How would you feel if you figured a ghoul was coming to take your soul?”

“Gullible,” Sherlock muttered.

“Well, you can just piss off then,” John laughed. “So what were you doing in there other than frightening people?”

Sherlock paused, inspecting him for a moment, before answering reluctantly, “It’s where I go to think.”

John nodded understandingly, “It certainly is secluded and I guess Uni students can be a bit obnoxious.”

“A bit?”

John snorted and laughed, “Okay, very obnoxious but you don’t seem like too much of a saint yourself.”

“Oh, please. When has being a saint gotten anyone anywhere?”

“Gee, you’re right. It’s not like a saint does things out of the kindness of their heart and not to get anywhere. What on earth was I thinking?” He caught a twitch of Sherlock’s lip and grinned, “You smiled.”

“Did not.” Sherlock walked off with John trailing behind.

“Don’t lie, Sherlock, I just saw you.”

“I’m not lying.”

“Yes, you are. I totally got you to smile for a second there. Come on, drop the posh front and show me those pearly whites.”

“I refuse to show you my ‘pearly whites’ as you kindly call them.”

“Don’t worry, they can be pearly yellows for all I care.”

“If they were yellow, they wouldn’t be pearly.”

“And if I weren’t fully aware of that, I still wouldn’t care,” John grinned at seeing Sherlock’s lip twitch again. “I don’t see why you can’t just smile. Please? It’d make me happy.” John yelped quietly when Sherlock came to abrupt stop and swung around.

“Why would my show of happiness make you happy?” he questioned.

John shrugged, “Just would, you know. Gives me a rush of endorphins and all that.”

“That’s a strange thing to derive pleasure from.”

“I can’t be the only one that would love to see you smile.”

“Perhaps not,” Sherlock admitted, “but you’re the only one who actually expects me too.”

“Well why wouldn’t you?” John asked curiously, “You’ve got a brilliant mind, handsome face, and do I have to mention the voice? I would die to have a voice that deep.”

“It wouldn’t be too useful if you’re dead.”

“Thank you for that tidbit, smartarse, I would have never guessed.”

“Don’t blame me for correcting you when you say nothing but illogical things.”

“They’re common phrases. Jesus, Sherlock. You’d think that I was speaking a different language from how you’re talking. Can you translate my next words into posh for me? Ready? ‘Laughter is the best medicine.’”

“Granted, studies have proven that laughter-“

“No,” John interrupted, an inch away from a set of giggles, “No, wrong. Bad Sherlock.”

“I’m not a dog, John.”

“Well, I’m not an idiot, Sherlock.”

“Yes, you are. At least compared to me you are,” Sherlock sighed, “Compared to me, everyone’s an idiot.”

“Well-” John’s next words were interrupted by a shout. Mike Stamford was walking towards him, shouting his name. John tore his eyes away from Sherlock for a split second but when he turned back, Sherlock was gone.

“Afternoon, John,” Mike greeted him with a jolly smile, “I see you got to talk to Sherlock for a bit.”

John nodded, “I like him.”

Mike froze, shock apparent on his face, “Really? Most people talk to him for five minutes and think he’s the most ghastly thing to plague this earth.”

“I admit, he is arrogant, moody, and a bit strange,” John chuckled to himself, “But I like him.”

Mike smiled and patted John on the back, “Well that’s good then, mate, you are going to sharing spaces with him after all.”

 


	3. That Spider

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock loses his spider. Then, unfortunately, he finds it again.

 

John was relaxing in his room with his first day of homework when Sherlock came barreling in, slamming the door shut behind him. John jumped, startled by the sudden appearance.

“Goodness sake, Sherlock,” he scolded, “Do you always need to make a dramatic entrance?”

Sherlock ignored the question and dropped to the ground, searching under the bed for something. “Where’s my spider?”

“I’m sorry, your what?” John did not just hear say spider, “You lost a bloody spider? In here?”

“I didn’t lose him, he got away,” Sherlock took a glass test tube that had been tucked away in his pocket and threw it haphazardly into John’s hands, “I don’t know how but it did.”

John looked into the tube and saw that, yes, it was indeed missing a spider. “Sherlock,” John’s voice wavered, “Please tell me this spider wasn’t poisonous.”

“It wasn’t poisonous,” Sherlock said slowly, “But its venom may hold some odd characteristics that could possibly kill but the problem is, I was never able to test it. I was planning on inflicting its venom on some lab mice but as I stated earlier, it is missing.”

“Jesus, Sherlock,” John jumped out of bed and looked around frantically, “Next time you want to keep a lethal species of spider in the room, at least let me know.”

“I wasn’t aware that I had to report my activities to you,” he peeled off John’s sheets one by one, searching for his lethal spider.

“When your activities can kill me then yes, you do have to report them. What were you even doing with this spider?”

“Altering its genetics,” Sherlock answered almost proudly, “It was totally innocuous before I got a hold of it.”

“You psychopathic genius,” John said, unable to hold back a smile.

“Sociopathic genius,” Sherlock corrected him, his lips twitching into a quick smile.

 John’s grin widened when he saw the smile, then he remembered that a deadly spider was crawling about and jumped back into gear, searching for this spider. They turned the room inside out, looking for the creature. John sighed at the thought of cleaning up once they were done.

“Hey, Sherlock,” the door opened, revealing inspector detective Lestrade.

Simultaneously, the two students yelled, “Close that door.”

Lestrade jumped and slammed the door closed behind him. “What was that about?” the older man complained.

Sherlock continued the search while John paused to inspect the intruder. The gray haired man was looking around the room, seeming almost impressed. “This is actually the cleanest I’ve ever seen this place.”

“John cleaned it,” Sherlock said distractedly, “He just couldn’t let it be.”

John rolled his eyes, “I’m sorry I’d rather live somewhere habitable for humans. Next time I’ll leave your garden of fungus to grow in peace.”

Sherlock was picking up his mattress when he responded so John didn’t see his smile, “Thank you. You sent my research back months with your little cleaning spree.”

“What?” John’s eyes widened in horror, “What do you mean? You didn’t actually have fungus growing in here, did you? Oh God, did I touch it?” He inspected his hands frantically until a muffled snort drew his attention. He couldn’t help grinning, “Did Sherlock ‘Posh pants’ Holmes just laugh?”

“Of course not, John, don’t be daft. What do you want, Lestrade?” Sherlock dropped his mattress and wiped the smile from his mouth before giving Lestrade his full attention.

The detective’s gaze went from boy to boy, his lip quirked with amusement. “You never told me you were getting a roommate.”

“I wasn’t told either,” Sherlock answered briskly, “Apparently Mycroft thought it’d be a fun surprise. Now I assume there is a case that you wish for me to assist you with.”

“Right,” Lestrade put back on his business face, “Two dead bodies and a dissected cat on 423 Lakington Avenue.”

“I’ll be there. You go ahead.”

“Thank you,” he nodded at John, “It was nice meeting you, John.”

“You too,” John waved awkwardly as Lestrade left right back out.  He turned his questioning gaze on Sherlock, “What was that about?”

“The police consult me when their out of their depth,” Sherlock opened up the drawers of his desk, “Which is always.”

“But you’re just a student,” John said, confused.

“That is unfortunately true but I am also a consulting detective. The only one in the world. I invented the job.” He noticed a red dot scurry away from his searching hand and under a folder. He picked it up, expecting to find it tucked away underneath but blinked when he saw nothing.

“Wow, that’s,” John paused to find the right words, “Well, amazing. Just downright amazing. How many murder cases have you solved?”

“Plenty,” Sherlock muttered, scanning the drawer. He wondered for a moment if his eyes had tricked him then he felt something prick his hand, like a little needle. Reflexively, he slapped his hand and watched with dismay as his spider fell to the ground dead. He sighed, “Well, I found it.”

John stepped closer, inspecting the spider. His ocean blue eyes zeroed in on the strange creature lying dead at his feet. It was mostly red with black thick legs and four blue spots on its abdomen. Its flattened abdomen. “That’s an interesting looking spider.”

Sherlock hummed noncommittally, taking the opportunity to examine his hand while John was distracted. Two barely there incisions proved that the spider had bit him. He couldn’t tell John though. No, the man was a medical major. He’d do everything he could to get Sherlock to the hospital for some type of treatment. His thirst for knowledge was overpowering his self-preservation instincts.

“Sherlock?” he snapped out of his thoughts to face a concerned John, “The thing didn’t bite you, did it?”

“No, no, of course not,” Sherlock lied easily, “Just crawled on me.”

“Are you sure?” John reached for his hand, “Let me see.”

“No,” he snatched his hand away before John could get ahold of it, “I’m fine. Anyway, I have a murder case to look at. Thank you for helping me search, have fun cleaning the room again.” Sherlock picked his coat and scarf up from off the ground, “It’d be great if you could collect the spider in the test tube and place it on my desk. I’ll be doing experiments with its dead body now. Good day.”

John sighed as Sherlock left the room like a whirlwind, leaving him to clean up. He was placing the dead spider on Sherlock’s desk when the door opened again.

“You’re a medical major,” Sherlock stated thoughtfully.

John looked at him questioningly, “Yes I am.”

“How would you like to put what you’ve learned to good use?”

John couldn’t help smiling when he realized what was happening, “Is Sherlock Holmes inviting me to help with a case?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “Well if you’re going to obnoxious about it-”

“No, no, I’d love to,” John said quickly. He grabbed his coat off his bed and motioned towards the door, “After you, Mr. Holmes.”

 

 


	4. Sherlock Loses It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John visits a crime scene. Then Sherlock loses it (And Sally is a dolt).

 

John followed close at his roommate’s heels as they navigated around the crime scene investigators. He was amazed by how no one was stopping them from entering the apartment and going up the stairs, where the dead body laid, unmoved. The first dead body was a woman, middle aged, quite a bit underweight and wearing a worn t-shirt and jeans. The second body was a Prussian long-haired cat split right open down the center and opened for the insides to be seen.

He watched his roommate glove his hands and lean down near the body.

“Who is this?” A guy, suited in full body spandex and sounding incredibly whiny, demanded while gesturing to John.

“My colleague,” Sherlock rumbled.

“Your colleague?” a woman asked, incredulously, “How do you get a colleague?”

Sherlock ignored her and focused on the body. “Middle-aged, just divorced from a verbally abusive husband, heavy smoker, from Philadelphia, moved here a year or so ago, probably to be closer to a relative since she just started treatment. Died from asphyxiation, strangled by a man.”

“What would she be getting treated for?” Lestrade asked.

John ventured a guess, “Anorexia? She seems a fair bit underweight.”

“Very good, John. The pamphlets on her dresser are directing her to New York facilities.”

“But how did you know her husband was verbally abusive,” John asked, fascinated.

“Her collection of make-up says vain but she was talking to someone while looking like this so obviously there was an outside source influencing her when she bought all of it. Which begs the question, what could make a person adjust their appearance to cater to someone else? Must be human error. Lack of tan where the marriage ring used to be plus getting treated for anorexia after years of suffering from it means recently divorced from someone that made her feel uncomfortable about her appearance. Ergo, verbally abused her.”

“Brilliant,” John blurted.

Sherlock’s mouth twitched, “You do know you do that at loud, don’t you?”

“Oh, yeah, sorry.”

“No, it’s,” Sherlock willed his smile away, “It’s fine.” When he caught sight of Lestrade’s fond expression, his expression smoothed easily into disdain. “The cat was killed before her death. Chances are, she came home, found the cat like this and went to a male she thought kind. This wasn’t a premediated death so he must have a diagnosed or undiagnosed mental illness that makes him unstable. He may well have killed her cat as well, but if not, you might want to look into that-“ a wave of sudden dizziness hit him hard. He wobbled to his feet, then stumbled back into the vanity, scattering the anorexia pamphlets.

“Sherlock,” John was by his side in seconds, “Sherlock, are you okay?”

He waved John off but the move was flimsy and unconvincing, “I’m fine.”

“You obviously are not. Your color is completely off and your eyes aren’t focusing. It was that damn spider, wasn’t it? I knew it bit you.” John could have slapped himself for his naivety. Of course Sherlock would lie. He was an insane idiot that helped the cops with murders just to pass time. “You’re going to the hospital.”

“No,” even while woozy, he managed to sound vehement, “My temperature is just rising at an alarming rate. It’s probably just a fever. Once I sleep it off, I’ll be fine.”

“You need to go to the hospital.”

"No."

John groaned loudly and looked around for support but all he got was a helpless shrug from Greg. “Okay, fine, we’ll go back to the dorms and you’re to be confined to your bed for the next forty-eight hours. Don’t you dare argue, I’m putting my foot down.”

At this point, Sherlock couldn’t find it in himself to care. He nodded absently and leaned heavily on John, letting the rugby player carry most of his weight. He floated in and out of consciousness during the taxi ride home. He didn’t even register John’s constant and vehement cursing as traffic held them up. Before he knew it, he was in bed then his conscious slipped completely.

 


	5. Mother Spider

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The darn spider bite plus John's inability to leave Sherlock alone.

The first, second and third time he regained consciousness, the whole forty-eight hours didn’t mean much to him. He was tired, hot, cold and nauseous so, yes, he would happily stay in bed and be cared for. And cared for he was since every time he woke, John was sitting next to his bed, wiping his away sweat and generally fussing over him. For a moment, Sherlock was reminded of his own mother who was always flustered when he came down with one his rare illnesses.   

The fourth time however, was pure torture. A full twenty-four hours had passed and he felt fine. His temperature had settled, his headache had vanished and if John let him stand up, he was sure he’d be totally stable. John, however, believed otherwise.

“John, if I stay in this bed for a second longer, I won’t be responsible for my actions,” was his warning.

John was sitting on his own bed, doing homework. “Yeah, well, you should have thought about that before you let the spider bite you.”

“I didn’t let it bite me,” Sherlock argued, “That was totally out of my control.”

“Does ‘precaution’ mean anything to you? Is it not in your mental dictionary? Did you delete it along with ‘common sense’?” John’s glared was heated and therefore, hard to retort against.

Sherlock pouted silently, unwilling to admit to his mistake.

John was irritated when his roommate’s pout made him soften. He should be able to maintain a proper scolding attitude. “Okay, if you’re sure. Just let me give you an examination to make sure everything’s in working order.”

Sherlock huffed, “Fine.”

“Hand first,” John slid off his bed and kneel beside Sherlock’s bed, “The one you were bit on.”

Reluctantly, Sherlock held his hand out to be examined. John resisted getting distracted by his long, slender fingers and focus on the barely visible incisions. He turned his hand, palm up and checked his pulse. “Okay, regular blood flow, no swelling or redness. Move your fingers for me.”

Sherlock huffed even loud and bent his pinky. He waited for John’s okay before moving on to his ring and index fingers. As they lowered he heard and felt something squirt out of his arm. He didn’t realize he stopped breathing until John muttered, “Not okay.”

They seemed to snap out of it as the same time and simultaneously scramble across the room to get a closer look at the wall. Sherlock dabbed his finger in the white mess and muttered, “A spider web.”

John felt faint. “A spider web just came out of your wrist.”

Sherlock, on the other hand, was intrigued. “But why? I need to find out. Where is the spider’s remains?”

John pointed weakly at Sherlock’s desk and couldn’t stop his sigh when Sherlock grabbed his coat and headed out while still wearing nothing but a t-shirt and bee pajama pants. Determined to have some semblance of normality, he sat back on his bed and continued with his homework. Then he realized he was getting nowhere with it and decided to go find Sherlock, if only to bring him proper dressing clothes. While he was going through Sherlock’s drawers to find something for him to wear, he cursed himself for being so motherly towards a boy- man actually, that he hardly knew.

   He had to ask several people for directions to the chemistry labs, feeling awkward about the set of clothes in his hand. It was like he was a mother looking for her child who wet the bed. When he finally opened the door to the chemistry room Sherlock always used (other students made a habit of avoiding it), he was stopped short at seeing a mousey girl trying to talk to Sherlock a pajama clad. Key word: Trying.

Sherlock, in his usual insensitive git fashion, was giving her every concise, one-word answers needed to put the average person off. So this girl must have been special.

“Sherlock,” John called over the Bunsen burner and Sherlock’s insufferableness.

Sherlock’s head snapped up, “John. You’ve brought clothes for me.”

“Did you even notice you were wearing your pajamas?” John asked, unable to keep his amusement out of his tone.

His question was answered when Sherlock looked down at what he was wearing. “Oh.”

“Yeah, bugger, here you go. Get these on before anyone else sees you in your bee pants.”

Sherlock mumbled a quick thanks before grabbing the clothes and whisking them off to somewhere he could change.

The atmosphere quickly turned awkward as John was left alone with the unknown girl.

“John, was it?” the girl blurted out, promptly blushing afterwards. “I-I’m Molly.”

“Nice to meet you, Molly,” John smiled pleasantly, “Are you a classmate of Sherlock’s?”

She nodded, “We have a few classes together. And you are? To Sherlock I mean. Not that it’s any of my business, you really don’t have to answer, you two just seem to be on good terms and that’s rare with Sherlock.”

John chuckled, “Yeah, I know the git makes it hard. I’m his roommate. So what are you doing here, other than making sure Sherlock doesn’t maim himself or the equipment?”

“Well, that’s pretty much it,” she chuckled, “You never know with Sherlock.”

“I know what you mean,” John couldn’t help rolling his eyes in annoyance, “I’ve known him for three days now and already figured that out the hard way.”

“Three days?” she echoed, shocked, “I thought you must have known him for years now for him to be so comfortable with you.”

“That’s comfortable?” John asked, “I just brought him clothes.”

“Trust me, if anyone else went through his things, they’d get a verbal lashing,” she informed him, “I think the way he just took it showed how much he trusts you.”

“Oh.”

They fell silent until Sherlock came back in the room, talking as if he never left. “Great timing, John. I was actually hoping to share the results of my experiment with you. If you don’t mind Molly.” It wasn’t even question but an order to get out.

John opened his mouth to object but Molly stopped him. “It’s okay, John. It was nice meeting you.”

“You too, Molly,” he waved, “I hope to talk to you again sometime.”

“I’m pretty sure we will,” she smiled, “Bye Sherlock.”

John rolled his eyes as his roommate just grunted. When she was gone, he finally said, “You could work on your bedside manor a bit, especially for the people who actually want to put up with you.”

“Not important, come over here.”

John huffed but walked over obediently and looked at the cylinder of red liquid in front of him. He paled slightly at how similar to blood it appeared to be. “This isn’t what I think it is, is it?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “Unfortunately not. I didn’t have the appropriate tools to withdraw my own blood so I used rat blood as a substitute. The amount of blood is proportional to the amount of blood in my body. I estimated the amount of venom the spider would have released into my body and abstracted the venom from the spider and recreated the chemicals in it the best I could before adding it to the blood. Oddly enough, the chemicals mixed in harmlessly with the blood. That’s when I decided to add in the spider itself. John, what happened next is like nothing I’ve ever seen. What you see there appears to be normal blood but the DNA of the spider actually fused itself with the blood cells. Think about what that would mean for a living creature. To have the DNA of a spider fuse with the creature than keep on multiplying. My theory is that the spider infused blood cells began to multiply incessantly. My body attacked the cells that were infused with spider DNA because those appeared ‘foreign.’ In the time frame of twenty-four hours, my body underwent a hostile takeover by foreign cells, giving me spider-like attributes causing the webbing being created and released from my wrist and possibly other bodily changes.”

John, who prided himself on having an open-mind, said bluntly, “That’s impossible.”

“It should be,” Sherlock grinned maniacally, “But it’s not. You saw for yourself, John. My body created proteinaceous spider silk and dispensed it through a barely visible hole in my arm. I would have cut my arm open to see how if I knew more about the biological intricacies that my body is now laced with. One thing a certainly don’t want to do is hinder any of my new found abilities. That’s why, you, John, will be my personal doctor. I need you to record everything you learn about my anatomy and biological oddities.”

For a moment, John felt his brain short circuit. “Okay, what you’re saying is, whenever some funny liquid comes out of your body, you’ll report it to me?”

Sherlock frowned at his phrasing, “I would think there’d be more to it than ‘funny liquid’ but yes.”

“And me, I’ll mother hen you into doing whatever’s best for your body?”

“Nothing you haven’t done before, yes.”

John pursed his lips then felt them twitch into a grin, “Alright.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Swinging 'Lock?

"Record this, John. It will go down in history,” Sherlock called out, barely hidden excitement in his voice. He was positioned at the base of a wall in an eerily empty alley way that only he would be able to find. John wasn’t exactly complaining though. He wasn’t exactly keen on any functioning adult of society stumbling across their experiment.

John smiled indulgently and typed in his laptop, ‘Sherlock’s Change to Spiderman: Day 2.’ “Reeling to go ‘Lock.”

Sherlock froze abruptly then turned to John with a deadly glare. He bit out aggressively, “Don’t ever call me that again.”

John rolled his eyes with a smile. “Fine.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

“John.” The single word was full of fury.

John huffed in response, not quite able to drop his smile, and held up his pinky, “I pinky promise not to call you ‘Lock anymore. Happy?”

“Of course not,” Sherlock growled then huffed irritably, “You’re distracting me from the experiment. Once again, are you ready to record? Answer with a simple yes or no without any of the ridiculous colloquial you’re so fond of using.”

“Ten four, Houston.” He met Sherlock’s glare with a wide grin.

“Anyway,” Sherlock said with deliberate force, “I’m going to activate the webbing then test its strength.” Immediately after announcing his intentions, he sent a string of web shooting to the top of the building and grabbed hold of the end.

John noted the approximate distance it went and commented with a hint of worry, “Seems sort of thin, doesn’t it? Are you sure it can hold you?”

“Of course,” Sherlock stepped on the wall and pulled himself up, climbing the web until he was entirely off the ground. He swung around on it, grinning like a kid on Christmas. “Come over here, John.”

John huffed a laugh and set his laptop aside to go join him. Before he could even reached him, Sherlock swung over and scooped John up. They were like two kids on one swing set, giggling without a care in the world. Until Sherlock’s phone rang shrilly, dragging them from their internal wonderland. They locked eyes for a second before averting them awkwardly.

“I, uh,” Sherlock cleared his throat, “Can’t get to my pocket.”

“Right, yeah,” John jumped hastily to the ground, “I’m sorry. I’m just going to, you know, head back to the dorm. See you later?”

“Yes, you will,” Sherlock nodded, jumping down himself, “Goodbye, John.”

“See ya, Sherlock.” He grinned at his roommate one last time before walking out the alley way, onto the busy sidewalk. As he walked, he heard phone rings everywhere he passed. It was almost like they were following him. When the phone booth just ahead started to ring, he decided he had enough of this game. He stalked forward and answered the phone.

“Hello?”

“John Watson.” A posh voice said with a knowing lit, “On your way back to your dorm room?”

John gritted his teeth, refusing to be intimidated, “Who is this?”

“It has come to my attention, John,” the voice continued, ignoring the question, “That you’ve grown unwittingly close to Sherlock Holmes. In light of recent events, I think you understand why that worries me.”

John froze, “What are you talking about?”

“I know about the spider, John. Now there’s a black car pulling up. Get in.”

John could barely breathe. He glanced around self-consciously, “But how do you know? We haven’t told anyone.”

“Goodbye, John.”

The line went dead. John let the phone slip from his grip. He caught the sigh of the black car immediately and stride towards it. When he opened the door, he was met with a dark-haired girl typing on a blackberry.

She greeted him with a professional smile but went right back to her phone. John, reluctantly climbed in, and almost immediately, the driver began driving.

John fidgeted, not at all enjoying the painfully awkward silence. He would trade it in for an awkward silence with Sherlock any day. Speaking of him, “Can you tell me what all this is about?”

She smiled patronizingly, “No.”

John sighed, “At least tell me your name?”

“Anthea,” she replied with enough hesitation to make him suspicious.

“Is that your real name?”

“Nope.”

The little interaction had taught him to appreciate the awkward silence. It was way better than being treated like an idiot.

Soon enough, the car pulled into an abandoned warehouse. Dirty yellow lights flickered over a man in a spotless gray suit who was leaning casually on an umbrella. John got out the care and approached him warily.

“You’re the one that called?” John asked.

“Indeed,” the man said, as if impressed that he managed to guess that much, “And you’re the boy that my little brother has grown so fond of. Going as far as to include you in one of his little cases but also trusting you with the knowledge of his most recent experiment. Tell me, John, what’s your intentions regarding Sherlock Holmes?”

“Intentions?” John sputtered incredulously, “Did you kidnap me just to give me the shovel talk?”

“Well I was waiting for a happy announcement before I got around to it but no time like the present, I suppose,” the man smiled wryly.

“Sherlock and I are just friends,” John insisted, “I have no intentions other than to make sure the git stays alive.”

“Which more than anyone expects from you,” the man replied evenly, “Actually, half the people who heard that Sherlock was going to have a roommate groaned because of the complaints they expected to here. You are doing the unexpected, John, and as you would guess, it makes some of us wary.”

“I just,” John ran a hand through his floppy blond hair and shrugged, “I like him. He’s a madman.”

“You’re showing almost obsessive loyalty towards someone you’ve just met,” the man huffed and tapped the umbrella on the ground with exasperated finality, “It’s what one would expect of Sherlock Holmes’s best friend, I suppose. My car will drive you to your dorms. I’ll see you again soon, John Watson.”

 

Three hours later-

 

Sherlock walked into the dorm room, shedding his coat and scarf. John was already there, poring over his biology book while seating comfortably in bed.

He piped up from his spot, “Some guy kidnapped me today and asked me about you.”

Sherlock grimaced, “Mycroft, my brother. He can’t keep his big fat nose to himself.”

“He knows about the spider thing.”

“He’s the British government. He knows everything.”

John hummed noncommittally.

“What?”

“Nothing.” He paused, “He was just a bit of an areshole.”

Sherlock repressed a giggle, “A bit?”

They both giggled.

“Maybe more than a bit.”

 

 

 


End file.
